A Beast and his Doctor
by worshipthehat
Summary: A young Prince, Sherlock, angers a sorceress and loses his emotions. Can a plucky village doctor give him the push he needs to get them back before it's too late? Johnlock, do BEWARE! * *
1. Prologue

**Ne minna-san, thought you might like a bit of fantasy Johnlock...had this one on my mind for a while so we'll see how it goes. Let me know what you think: Read, Enjoy and Review! there even be sherlock hugs for those who do ^^**

_**worshipthehat**_

**Chapter 1:**

Once upon a time. That's how normal stories start. Normal fairy tales, anyway. This, however, is far from normal. It's about an emotionless prince, a conniving huntsman, and a doctor.

The Prince was the ruler of all he surveyed, yet he wasn't happy. He hated the monotony of his life and the people around him. He was never satisfied and he made sure everyone knew about it.

One stormy night, a cloaked stranger appeared at the door, soaked to the bone.

"What do you want?" the Prince asked, a sneer curling on his lip. He didn't like strangers, they always brought trouble and although he like to work out who people were, he preferred if they let him know if they were coming. Mystery at both ends of the story was too much for him (and he admitted as such on a regular basis to whoever would listen).

"I was only wondering if I could come in for coffee. See, it's raining so heavily out here that a coffee would be the best thing the world right now."

"Why should I waste my perfectly good coffee on a stranger? I went to all the trouble of having my servants get hold of it. Why should you get it?"

"Well, I thought it would be nice if you could share it. You know, a bit of compassion for the poor stranger out in the rain."

The young Prince pondered this for a moment. His face didn't show it, but his brain was speeding ahead trying to figure out who this mysterious person was and why she wanted his coffee. She wore a pretty nondescript cloak, a plain dark colour with splashed of mud on the hem - indicating that she was possibly from a nearby village. This idea was thrown off kilter by the well-cultured voice that suggested that she brought up in a noble household. His thinking was to no avail, she remained a mystery. An increasingly irritated, dripping wet mystery who was threatening to drip water all over his castle. That was the deciding factor. She had to go.

"Look," he said with irritation, "you're not getting my coffee and you're not getting in my house. I'm not compassionate about people I don't know - they aren't worth my 'feelings'."

He said the word as if it were covered in slime and shouting rude things at him.

The woman under the cloak had had enough. She flung her cloak back to reveal a beautiful, but angry, woman with a long jade gown and long mousy hair. She was giving off an aura of such great power that the Prince took a step back.

"Fine! You don't want to be compassionate? You don't like "feelings"? Then see how you cope _without_ them. From this day forth, my Prince, you shall be an emotionless sociopath with no feelings at all. Not joy, not sadness, not even love."

"Pff…why would I need love? I'm perfectly happy being married to my work. Why on earth would I need anyone else?" The Prince found the concept laughable.

"We'll see. Should you wish to break the curse, you will have until your 30th birthday to do so. Beyond that and you will be past any help that _could_ be offered. If you can prove yourself worthy of getting your emotions back, I will return them. Until then, I will seal them up in a coffee jar that cannot be broken, opened or destroyed, no matter how hard you try."

She spoke in a powerful voice, and magic is always more powerful when spoken aloud (it feels more important). She raised her hands to the Prince's chest and pulled, drawing out a tiny sphere of pulsating energy from below his heart. It flew into the jar and fluttered to the bottom as a tiny blue heart-shaped piece of confetti.

"Here," the sorceress said, in a snippy voice, "take this and keep it somewhere safe. You never know when someone might come along and break it."

With those final words, she vanished in a flash of light leaving a slightly perturbed Prince standing on his doorstep, holding a coffee jar with a blue piece of confetti in it - staring into the rain.

It was a few years later when the Prince had his first encounter with someone who could've broken his curse. She would later only ever be referred to as "the woman", but Irene Adler was the only woman (apart from the sorceress) to have ever bested him. She had stayed with him for a while, swinging her hips around his castle and threatening to pull his emotions out of hiding, but it was not to be. He had told her of his curse and she had disappeared without a trace. He assumed it was because of his lack of emotion and general coldness; however he soon overheard his servants discussing her fetish for power and discovered she was now living with the sorceress. He would have shown remorse if he had any emotions, but as he didn't he moved on, not knowing that his salvation would come in much less obvious form.

**Don't forget, ne? Review ^^**


	2. Chapter 1

**I'm so glad to have had people adding this story to their alerts! Gives me hope I've tried to make this a bit longer than the prologue.**

**If you like it (or if you don't...if so, constructive criticisms please!), then please REVIEW! Arigatou gozaimasu)**

**Remember: READ, ENJOY and (most importantly!) REVIEW**

**Chapter 2:**

"Well, Mrs Chumley, if you just rest your leg for a few days it should be just as good as new. I would, however, advise you don't try climbing on your roof to retrieve your cat. I'm sure there are plenty of more able young men who could've given you hand. Or you could have just left it, I'm pretty sure cats enjoy sunbathing on the roof; they're pernickety creatures like that."

"Now, Mr Chumley. I'm sure it's just a cold you've got. Just like last week. Just make sure you eat plenty of fruit and vegetables and you'll be just fine."

Dr John Watson sighed. He was doing his rounds of the village, finding and helping all the ill people. Well, all the ill people and Mr Chumley the resident village hypochondriac. He was forever bringing on new illnesses that, curiously, displayed none of the usual symptoms. In fact he displayed no symptoms at all, apart from those of a hypochondriac. John decided that if he just played along, the hypochondria might pass in time….no changes yet, though. As much as John enjoyed doing his rounds of the village, he missed the action that was lost in such a small place.

Dr John Watson was once Captain John Watson, army doctor in the recent war that was devastating the countryside (at least according to the locals, he was impartial having been a part of it and being more worried about the huge number of casualties he'd had to deal with). Unfortunately, due a stray arrow to the shoulder and the resulting psychosomatic limp, he was retired early. He now had to deal with the daily maladies of his small village with the help of wooden walking stick. Such was life. He could still dream that excitement would tap him on the shoulder one day….

John was walking to his next appointment when he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around.

"John Watson?" the stranger asked, with apparent familiarity, "Mike Stamford! We trained together at Bart's, do you remember?"

"Mike Stamford, I remember now. You were…different back then."

John tried to conceal his observation that his schoolmate had changed so drastically since they had last met.

"I know… I've gotten fat. I teach at Bart's now, all those bright young things that're eager to learn! I hate the lot of them," he said with a jovial laugh, "I thought you were out protecting the country and getting shot at…what happened?"

"I got shot."

"Ah, I'm sorry"

John cut him off before he heard another spiel about how sorry people were, and how they hoped he would get better soon. It was enough to make a person bitter, but he had other things to worry about closer to home.

"Don't worry about it. I'm here now, tending to the many ill people of the village. I'm coping."

"That sounds to me like you're coping, but with things you have no control over…How's Harry?"

"Still drinking, still needs taking care of, still"

"Still wandering off?"

John tensed, his whole body going rigid.

"Wandering off? She doesn't like leaving the house; she usually just stays in her room with a bottle. Which direction did she go?"

He was worried now.

"She was heading towards the forest last time I saw her, not 10 minutes ago! You'll be fine catching her; I don't think she was in much of a fit state to walk in a very straight line…"

This didn't reassure John much, but he set off, at as quick a pace he could manage, towards the woods.

Harry Watson was completely oblivious to the trouble she was causing with her disappearance. She was far too busy dancing with a tree, the bottle of alcohol in her hand sloshing everywhere. Of course she didn't _know_ it was a tree, she thought it was a lovely gentleman who'd asked her to dance. Her partner seemed to be a little stoic, and opposed to dancing in general, so she moved on. The drink urged her to act much like a 6 year old spinning and giggling without a care in the world through the plants. In fact, she was too busy spinning and sprinkling drink everywhere that she didn't notice how far into the forest she had gone. She didn't notice the huge castle that lay in her wake. All she saw were the pretty flowers in the vast garden that seemed to be singing and calling to her in a manner that was hard to refuse. Harry dropped the bottle at the gate of the garden and skipped into the colourful flower garden, completely unaware of the presence now shadowing her as she trampled the plants into the ground in her clumsiness. She had just started singing when a cold voice sounded behind her. She sobered up quite quickly.

"What are you doing in my garden? More importantly, what do you think you're doing to my roses?

The emotionless voice would have sounded slightly surprised to a normal person, but to Harry it sounded like a monster with a deep booming voice. She screamed, and then promptly fainted (crushing even more of the roses). The figure still looked emotionless, and then called to his servants to bring the girl inside.

John raced through the forest (he didn't seem to notice that he was carrying his crutch), following a trail of footprints and damage. There were tree branches broken off and lying scattered on the forest floor, a smell of alcohol hung in the air which could only be from spillages, and a couple of patches of vomit. John was too used to cleaning up after his sister that it didn't even faze him. Soon the forest thinned out a little and a giant castle rose out of the ground. John didn't have time to wonder at the grand castle, he had to find Harry. However just as he was about to set off on the trail again, he saw an empty bottle next to the gate. Following the line of sight he then spotted the damage done to the garden.

"I guess I'd better get ready to apologise," he told himself. It was such a frequent occurrence that he already had a pre-rehearsed spiel in his head as he hesitantly knocked on the large wooden door.

**Thanks for reading, now please review it makes me happy!**


	3. Chapter 2

**Hey! Next chapter ^^ Sorry, it's a little short and a bit late...11hr shifts at work all week, what can you do? I'll see if I can do better next week, when my work finishes.**

**Don't forget the 3 magic words: Read, Enjoy and Review!**

**I do so love my reviews, so thanks to you nice people: _YourJustLikeMe, CaseyJuTardis, nt'kit, JustBeAQueen_ and _River-21_**

**Oh, and ofc I don't own Sherlock...in my head...locked in a room...with an otter...**

**Yeah...I'd just get on and read the chapter, enjoy ^^**

Chapter 3:

Knock! Knock! Knock!

Three quick knocks, meant urgent but with an effort made to hide it, the Prince thought to himself.

"I guess it needs answering…Anderson, get the door!" he shouted, to thin air.

A bumbling young man with a mop of black hair ran in the door.

"You're lucky I heard you, I'm not your dooropener, you know."

"Anderson, don't open your mouth so often, it lets out stupidity. It's doorman," the Prince replied emotionlessly. The words dripped with sarcasm even if the tone did not.

With a slightly startled look, Anderson ran to open the door.

John stood there, unsure if anyone heard his knock. Maybe Harry had moved on. He was about to leave and see if the trail continued when the door was rather hastily opened.

"Who are you? What do you want?" said a voice from the other side.

John turned around to see a disgruntled looking man in plain attire standing in the doorway as if John had no business being there. John supposed he didn't, but it was no way to treat a guest. He just shrugged it off, though.

"I think my sister may have appeared here, she's the drunken woman dancing with anything and everything. Have you seen her?"

"Oh," it was only one word but he said it with such disdain, "she's yours, is she? The master's not happy about the damage she's done to the garden. His poor roses! Anyway, she's sleeping it off in the dungeon so you'd better come in and see the master while you wait."

John just nodded and was led in through the big wooden door, along the vast portrait lined corridors and past exotic artefacts littered around the rooms. There were statues, paintings and furniture from places he'd probably never heard of, let alone visited! He could sense the opulence and wealth of the people who lived there, but he could also sense something else. It was sadness….loneliness. The castle was filled with objects instead of people. As they went further and further into the castle, John noticed the corridors becoming darker and darker, the atmosphere becoming less and less friendly. It was cold, too, unknown drafts blowing around his ankles.

Finally, as they approached the bowels of the castle, John saw they were approaching an ominous wooden door. It seemed normal enough, except for the tell tale grooves, revealing its history as target practice, and the numbers 221B Baker Street mysteriously scrawled across the middle in bright yellow paint. The door did not seem welcoming, and John doubted its inhabitant would be any different.

Slightly hesitantly, his guide knocked on the door and, without waiting for a command, pushed it open (avoiding the paint and gouges). He opened his mouth to announce John, but was cut off by an emotionless voice coming from a dark corner of the room.

"Anderson, what did I tell you about opening your mouth? I don't want to the castle to be infected with stupidity, so just don't bother. I know who this is. It must be your sister snoring down in my dungeons, how do you propose to pay me back for the damage you caused to my gardens?"

John could have sworn there was sarcasm hidden in between the emotionless words, even though it wasn't betrayed by the tone. It annoyed him.

"Look, I'm sorry about the damage my sister caused. It's becoming such a frequent occurrence that I don't know where next month's rent is going to be spent on, there are already 3 repair jobs to be paid for…."

John trailed off. He didn't know why he was telling this stranger his problems; the emotionless man didn't care about his money issues when he had this huge opulent palace…

"I couldn't care less about the hows or the whys; those roses took time and effort. They keep me from getting bored. I do get bored so easily….but no matter. This will do. You're a Doctor, I presume. Military by the wounds and haircut, and now you're what? The village practitioner. How boring. I need an assistant, just to help with some…experiments. You come and 'assist' and you're sister can dance herself home."

There wasn't even a question of John refusing the offer in that emotionless voice, just a command. Pure and simple. He pondered it for a moment, and then decided that Harry would probably be better off back home. If she just stayed there and drunk herself into a stupor, she would just go to sleep. No harm in her sleeping. One of the neighbours would look eventually…she was a big girl now…she didn't need her older brother. Older brother needed freedom to live, not just take care of his sister for the rest of his life, no matter how much he loved her. John brushed away the thoughts. They weren't helping his decision.

"I could just leave her there, you know. I hear once humans decay, they make marvellous compost. It would definitely help my roses…..I'll make a note to try it someday - make human compost, compare it with other types. It would definitely help my roses…..I'll make a note to try it someday - make human compost, compare it with other types. Yes, that would be interesting…."

The emotionless rambles sounded so ridiculous, that even faced with the loss of his job and his life as he knew it, John started giggling - actually giggling at the preposterous statements being made by the shadowy figure.

Through short bursts of giggles, he managed to splutter an "okay, I'll do it" before returning to his laughter (now full blown and completely perplexing the disgruntled servant at the door, who just shook his head and wandered off to the dungeons to fetch the snoring woman).

"So….," the figure spoke again, "how do you feel about the violin?"

**Cheers for the read! Now tell me what you think!**


	4. Chapter 3

**Well…what can I say? I can only apologise for the delay in this chapter. I had about half of this written in the red moleskine of power and then work happened T_T 13hr shifts directing traffic and then on to temping in a canteen, and then a family holiday to a place with NO INTERNET! I'm making do with BT Openzone, so I'll update when I can. I promise! Maybe this sea air will give me a bit of inspiration, suffered from a bit of writers block in this middle of this chapter.**

**So, yeah….I need to thank you lovely reviewers (many of whom I haven't had time to reply to and thank personally, sorry!) **_**Rune The Secret Child**_**, **_**sweetness4theheart**_**, **_**nt'kit**_**, **_**LittleWingsForFlight**_**, **_**YourJustLikeMe**_**, **_**CaseyJuTardis**_**, **_**JustBeAQueen**_** and **_**Pheonix-021**_**.**

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**Chapter 4:**

'_What on earth have I just done?_' thought John as he was lead down several dark corridors that twisted and turned sharply. He had no idea which part of the castle he was on, but he was being taken to what would be his room for the remainder of the time her spent here. Except that hadn't been specified by anyone.

"Um…excuse me," John had no idea of his name, this was a different person from the one who had lead him down to the emotionless man, she was a haughty looking young woman, "sorry, I don't know your name. How long am I to be staying here?"

"As long as 'the master' wishes," the woman said, sarcasm and disdain dripping from her address of the man, "I don't know why anyone would _want_ to stay here, I certainly don't. I'm Sally Donovan, the moody sod you came her with is Anderson. He does have a full name, but no one ever uses it, especially not the master. He never was one for names, or people, or anything, for that matter, that doesn't concern himself. He's such a freak, why on earth are _you_ staying with him? Who exactly _are_ you?"

John recoiled at the maliciousness of Donovan's name calling. Surely her employer wasn't all that bad! He just didn't get very emotional, a normal characteristic for a young man - especially in what looked like a very wealthy family. He'd surely meet him more in person at some point if he was going to be the man's assistant. Although assistant for what, he wasn't quite sure…."experiments" sounded a bit ambiguous, and interesting. John hoped curiosity certainly wouldn't kill the cat….

It was a little while later, while John was sat in his small room that the mumbles of hunger appeared. He realised he probably hadn't eaten since breakfast, and that seemed like a _long_ time ago. He decided to go in search of food, only to realise that he actually had _no_ idea where he was, or even where the kitchens were. The large castle had an obvious lack of people he could ask, so he decided it would be an adventure to go in search of food.

The corridors seemed to be even more like a maze as he limped his way along them; it was slow progress since he'd left his walking stick back at home. He passed more grim portraits and blank doors that all looked the same. John also noted a distinct lack of windows; the whole castle was lit by a number of candles that cast long shadows along the walls, making the darkness stretch further that it perhaps was.

All of a sudden, a door opened to John's right and he nearly collided with a slightly portly man dressed in a strange combination of butler's frock coat and wellies that were coated with mud.

"Who are you?" the man asked, a little gruffly, "Why do you think you can wander around the castle without permission? Does _he_ know you're here?"

"Of course he does. He knows everything that goes one here, dear."

Another figure appeared from the room behind the gruff man. The woman appeared older, and more motherly, an apron and mob cap fitting her as a housekeeper.

"I'm so glad he's finally decided to move on from that nasty hussy," she seemed to mutter to both herself and anyone who was in the near vicinity, "I guess he never was one for being conventional, but it's nice to see him with some company for a change….instead of just those cadavers he keeps in the dungeon. I know its cold down there, but it's no way to treat a body - I may be his housekeeper but I draw the line at cleaning that blasted dungeon!"

It took a moment for what the woman said to sink in, but it soon clicked.

"Um, wait a minute! I'm not his partner! He needed an assistant for his experiments (whatever they may be). Also, to answer _your_ question," he pointed to the gruff man, "I'm starving, so I'm looking for the kitchen. This place is like a flipping maze, I don't know how anyone finds anything!"

"Oh, dear, don't worry. I've heard that kind of thing is very modern. Whatever he wants to call it, experiments and whatnot, you don't have to worry about anyone judging you," she held up a hand to stop John from interrupting, "Now, I'm Mrs Hudson, the housekeeper of this blasted castle. This grizzly bear here is Gregory Lestrade. He's the butler-cum-handyman, so anything you need just ask him. He doesn't bite (or at least not unless he's provoked). So, I'll take you down to the kitchen."

John decided rather quickly that he liked Mrs Hudson, even more so as they chatted amiably on their way to the kitchens. He doubted he would be able to find the kitchen again, as Mrs Hudson led him through a number of similar dark corridors, yet it seemed like no time at all before they arrived. The kitchen was a fairly large room (to be expected from such a large castle), however it was one of the only rooms he'd seen than had a window. It streamed the last of the sunlight in and framed a view of a beautiful garden that looked as though it had every colour of rose imaginable. They were a rainbow of colour that seemed to contrast so much with the dingy, dark castle.

John's thoughts were interrupted by a familiar female voice.

"I see you've seen the freak's roses. Just about the only normal thing he does! Imagine that, playing with dead bodies and gardening."

Mrs Hudson shot Donovan a dirty look.

"You watch your mouth, my girl. The master kept you on like the rest of us, so you just watch what you say before you find yourself back where he found you. I'm sure you'd prefer to deal with him that some of your old clients."

This shut Donovan up, but not for long.

"Well, whatever. The freak does what he wants. What do you two want, bursting into my kitchen like that? I was quite happy doing nothing. The master hardly eats anything, so I'm not exactly rushed off my feet."

"Young John here would like something to eat. I'm sure you can rustle something up for him."

John winced at the 'young' comment but didn't say anything - he was about to get food and he didn't want anything to get in the way.

"Just some bread and jam - oh, and a cup of tea would be nice too."

He was met by a cynical look from Donovan.

"Bread's there, jam's there and water's in the well just outside. Knock yourself out," she emphasised the comments with a point in each direction, only to be hit with another glare from Mrs Hudson, "oh alright, I'll get the water. Just don't expect me to do everything around here."

John looked around and located the bread, spreading it thickly with jam. He got through 3 slices before Donovan stumbled through the door with a bucket of water. His bread lay abandoned as he limped over to help her with the bucket and get a pan heating up on the large fire that sat in the corner of the room.

The tea had just started to boil when the door burst open and the mystery owner of the castle burst in. He'd since donned a scarf and long coat that seemed to make him even taller that John had originally estimated.

"Want to see a dead body?" he said, breathlessly.

He was like a child, who had just been told he was going to a theme park, crammed into a grown man's body. It would have been almost comical if the subject of the conversation hadn't been corpses.

"How did _you_ get hold of a dead body?" John asked with suspicion.

"I have my contacts. This one died and no one knows how. That's where I come in, they call me when they have no idea, and that's often, by the way."

"Fine, where is this dead body?"

"In your village."

**So you know what to do now, guys Read, Enjoy and Review! (^^)**

**P.S Apologies for not much happening in this chapter, I needed to introduce the whole cast!**


	5. Chapter 4

**So yeah...*mumbles about deadlines and stuff* yeah, I won't bore you with the rants about deadlines, or increased workload, or how many friggin year abroad forms there are to fill in, y'all know the deal :( Sorry for not updating this story sooner, I knew where I wanted it to go, but not how it would get there. Lost a bit of inspiration, but gained it again when I found out they started filming series 3 on my birthday! How excited are you guys?!**

**Btw,, thanks for the reviews and stuff, guys! I think this story now has at least 34 followers! Hell yeah!**

**So keep leaving me those lovely little notes (Youz know the drill by now, Read, Enjoy and Review!), even if they are critiquing I appreciate them (^^) - those flames will keep my nice Scottish feet toasty - isn't that a lovely image!**

**So, anyways: Read, Enjoy, Review! You know you want to!**

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**Chapter 4:**

John's thoughts ran at a mile a minute as they sped towards the village in a simple carriage. Who could the body belong to? Could it be Mike? Or one of his previous patients? Or worse Harry? His companion, on the other hand, was calm - emotionless. He was very different from the childlike person he'd met a few minutes ago.

As they pulled into the village, John's dread grew. He recognised the house; he'd been there so often. The Chumley's house.

"Here we are. Apparently the wife came home to find the husband lying in the middle of the floor. Dead." Sherlock said with no hint of any remorse in his voice.

"His name's Chumley. He's a hypochondriac; I frequently have to deal with his 'maladies'," John explained, "I guess they finally caught up with him…."

Sherlock said nothing but stared at the house, as if deducing it where it stood. It was a fascinating thing to watch. John could see his brain working at 100miles a minute, imagining the clogs spinning and whirring. Maybe he could help work out what happened to Mr Chumley - they hadn't seen the body yet and judging by the excitement that was pretty much _waterfalling_ out of him back at the castle there must have been something interesting about the body. He couldn't just be excited about the body, right?

John knocked tentatively at the door.

"Hello? Mrs Chumley? It's me, John, the doctor. I heard about what happened. Can I come in?"

There was no reply, so John pushed the door open only to see Mrs Chumley sobbing quietly next to the body of her husband. He seemed to be lying in the middle of the floor, but, as John looked up, he could instantly see what had happened. Pieces of thatched roof dangled precariously from the large hole in the ceiling and a large beam of sunlight fell onto the crumpled body of Mr Chumley.

"Ah, Dr Watson, *_sniff_*, I'm glad you're here. He was like this when I came back. He *_sniff_* wasn't even breathing…"

John was about to reply with some condolences when a droll voice cut through the tense air.

"Boring!"

Sherlock sounded like a stubborn teenager. He'd walked in the door, taken one scorning glance at the body, and stuck his nose in the air. It obviously wasn't worth his precious time.

"Sherlock! What the hell?!" John was trying to reign in his anger, what with the grieving woman and her dead husband right next to them, "For goodness sake, Sherlock! Timing!"

Sherlock just sniffed disdainfully and sulked out of the house.

"I'm so sorry, Mrs Chumley…."

A little while later John walked out of the house only to find the carriage they had travelled in empty, just Anderson sat lazily in the driver's seat.

"He's gone, by the way. The psychopath wandered off a while ago, I wouldn't count on him coming back soon. He could be hours…."

He was cut off by the return of the droll voice.

"I'm not a psychopath, Anderson. I'm a high-functioning sociopath. Do your research."

Anderson just snorted, disparagingly.

"And where did you run off to?" John said, once again trying to reign in his anger at Sherlock's heartlessness.

"I got bored. It was easy to tell how the old guy died, so it was boring. I want to move on, find something exciting!"

To John, it seemed like Sherlock just had his nose in the air again and he had had enough.

"Sherlock. Why do you have to be so damn heartless?! The woman just lost her husband, and you just waltz in there and tell her it's boring. Well I've got news for you. It's not boring, it's tragic. I deal with them every day. I've dealt with them more than I'd ever care to deal with them again, but they are NEVER boring. Anyone with a heart could see that."

"Yeah, well I don't."

"You don't see how a death could be tragic?! How - "

"No, a heart. I don't have one. Well, if you want to be specific, I don't have emotions. You can blame the damn sorceress for that one. Decided I didn't need them, and I'm doing quite well without them, thank you very much."

"Seriously? You had your emotions taken away by a sorceress? I've heard some bullshit in my time, but this just takes the biscuit. You know what? You can deal with your dead body fetish on your own. I'm going home."

And with that, John stalked back off through the village to his old house, not caring if Sherlock followed or not. He could see the familiar sight just at the edge of the group of houses - it looked like it had hardly changed. A slight smile ghosted across his face as he pushed open the door - and then fell promptly as he saw the man sat at his kitchen table with an axe across his lap.

"Why hello, Dr. Watson. You must be the Prince's new plaything," he said, cynically, "my name's Moriarty and I wouldn't advise you to move right now."

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**Go on, you know you want to!**

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